


Dissonance, Resonance

by Beginning_Returner



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Germanbros, So many Germanbros feels, The past is always only a breath away, What vestiges remain when an entity gives its body to another soul?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 06:02:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14182443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beginning_Returner/pseuds/Beginning_Returner
Summary: Going to a Medieval Fair brings the brothers Beilschmidt more than the expected share of experiences.





	Dissonance, Resonance

Gilbert leaned across the counter of the stand and gazed at the tall blond man inside it. 

"How's business?" 

Ludwig looked his brother over once and sighed. After refusing to tell him what he'd be dressing as, Gilbert had run off dragging an immense suitcase the minute they'd gotten to the medieval fair. He should have expected as much from him. 

"Don't you have to pay licensing fees or something to dress like that? The Teutonic Order still does exist, technically." 

"Actually, I do have an honorary membership in the present day Order. But I'm pretty sure they don't care either way." 

Gilbert pushed back the hood on his mail hauberk. It had been over 500 years since he'd last worn the full uniform of an Order Knight, and he hadn't even been fully grown then. Somehow, it did feel a bit strange to wear the crest as an adult. 

"So, what have you been up to?" Ludwig turned back to his stew. 

"Oh, doing reenactor monologues for kids and teens, then an advanced workshop in swordsman(and woman) ship." 

"I hope you didn't beat them up too much." 

"Oh come on. I gave them no worse than what was given me in training." 

"Which means Toris must be making a killing with that homemade arnica muscle rub over at his stand." 

"Well, we made a deal beforehand that I'd funnel him business, so yes, he should be making a killing right about now. Anyway, there was a bigger hassle, because one of the people scheduled to train the kids in basic sword wielding couldn't show and I had to step in." 

Ludwig stopped stirring. "I hope you're not implying that I'm going to have a stampede of indignant mothers descending on me shortly." 

"Look, I was generally more preoccupied with keeping them from whacking each other. Kids. One shy little girl kept having problems so I coached her personally. Once she'd built up some confidence, I turned her loose on an opponent, and she hit him so hard the sword left splinters in his cheek." 

"Yeowch." 

"Yeah...No worries though, I had Toris come over and patch that critter up. Meanwhile that girl wouldn't stop yelling that she wanted to be my page and I had the darnedest time prying her off me." 

"Sounds like you're having fun, then." 

"Sure thing." Gilbert leaned in over the counter of Lutz's booth, dedicated to vending medieval stew (guaranteed no historically inaccurate potato use). 

"Hey, you alright so far?" 

"Why shouldn't I be?" 

"Well, this is a Medieval Fair we're at, after all. Most of us" --Gilbert gestured to himself significantly-- "take to these events like a fish to water, but you weren't even around back then." 

Ludwig sighed. 

"Gilbert, have you completely forgotten that most attendees here are normal folk with normal lifespans?" 

"Naw. I was just worried you might feel...out of place." 

"I'm fine, really." Ludwig contemplated his stewpot earnestly. "Anyhow, could you please stop bothering me? I'm trying to run a legitimate stand here." 

"Oh man, you think I'm annoying now? Then boy, am I ever glad you didn't have to see me back in the actual Middle Ages. God, I was such a little shit." 

Ludwig's vision suddenly went blank. His mind filled with fuzzy, oozing shapes and a foul taste lay on his mouth. He heard Gilbert shout "Lutz!" but he was 

already 

gone. 

A youth, barely more than a child. Dressed as Gilbert was now, in hauberk and surcoat and cloak broidered with the Order Cross, prostrate in homage on a rich carpet spread on ornate tile. The boy looked up, and his crimson eyes were filled with violence. "All thanks to you, and your ruler, o Highness," he said, "for granting me dominion over the pagan Lands once I have planted the Cross in them." "Why that is no trouble, none at all," He-who-was-not-him responded airily, raising a richly draped hand. "For those Lands, being mine in essence too, shall be of great benefit to Our health." And the child kneeling before him seemed irked by the reminder that he would have to share. 

Then the scene fragmented and melted like a paper being torn to pieces under a shower of rain. 

 

* * *

 

Gilbert saw Lutz go rigid. He vaulted over the stand front before Ludwig had even dropped his spoon, immediately swept him into a hug. He could feel his brother's back muscles trembling under his hands. 

A small part of his brain had been swearing nonstop ever since Ludwig lost himself only seconds ago. 

_For fucks sake. Here I worry about a stupid fair awakening any unpleasantness in him, and then I go and open my big mouth and trigger it myself._

"You're so strong for staying upright, you know," he whispered. Then carefully, reaching behind his back and legs, he lifted all seventy-something kilos of Lutz in the air, and laid him on the trampled grass. 

Unpinning his cloak, he folded it, and placed it in his lap as a cushion for Ludwig's head. "My dearest brother," he whispered. "Please come back." 

Ludwig shook like a piece of aberrant machinery, the cries from his mouth incoherent splinters of sound voiced by a broken synthesizer. 

Quietly, Gilbert sat there and stroked Lutz's flyaway hair, until the convulsions finally quieted. Looking down, he saw Ludwig's mind was still absent, his face empty. 

Carefully sliding his cushioned head off his lap, Gilbert cupped his brother's face in his hands, kissing him on one cheek, then the other. 

"I love you." 

Then he arranged him on one side with one leg over the other and one arm outstretched, the other crossed over, and waited. Slowly, he felt Ludwig return to himself. Saw him sit up, his eyes flutter-- 

He reached in and hugged him fiercely. "Shh. Don't look at me. Don't look at anything. Close your eyes. Close them tight. I'm closing mine too." 

"Where am I?" 

"Right here, in the fair. Shh, don't move. You've had an episode." 

"Oh God--" 

"Close your eyes, will you? Right now. Don't worry. I'm here. Right here with you." 

Gilbert felt Lutz let himself fall into blackness, and followed him there. 

"Now reach out. Reach out and feel your people." 

The darkness filled with a galaxy of a thousand fires. 

"They're your people too." 

"Shh. I know. And I'm grateful to you for letting me have them. Now can you look at them? Can you tell me what they're doing?" 

"Well-- that one over there is really happy with all the authentic sausages he just bought." 

"And wouldn't you be? Now what about those two, over there? What are they doing?" 

"They're... They're lovers." 

"And what are they doing?" 

"They're smooching." Gilbert could hear the embarrassment in Ludwig's voice. 

"Well, isn't that nice though? I'd be worried about their relationship if they weren't." 

"You're right." 

"Of course I am. Here, come. Let's reach out to them, and give them our regards." 

Gently, they let their souls approach the two, reached out ever so lightly to stroke them, bestowed their blessing on them. 

But just as they retreated afterwards, Gilbert felt one of the two women look up 

...and see them as they were, tightly intertwined, holding out the hand of benediction. 

Then they were gone from her sight, and opened their eyes inside the stall. 

Gilbert smiled. "Feel better now?" 

"Yes, I think I do." 

The silence between them was quickly broken as Feliciano rushed into their view, leapfrogging over the counter and into Ludwig's temporary vending area. 

"O mio Dio, are you alright, Ludwig? I should have noticed earlier, but there were so many customers at my stand--" 

"Felix. He's had an episode. Please take him to your place and hold his hand or feed him some polenta or something, will you?" 

The Italian roughly pulled him aside. "What happened?" he whispered. 

"A resurfaced memory from Karl, that's what," Gilbert responded quietly. 

"Oh, Madonna." 

"You don't have to whisper, you know. It's not like hearing the words 'Holy Roman Empire' or the name 'Karl' are going to set me off or anything-- God knows I heard them often enough in history class." 

"Ludwig, behave yourself. Just because you've been through a lot in the last ten minutes doesn't mean you have to be snarky. Now go and eat some of your boyfriend's authentic spelt flour polenta and get out of my sight." 

"But who's going to man the stand?" 

"I will. Be back in an hour, I have another class to run then." 

As Felix hurried off with Ludwig, Gilbert turned to face the small crowd of concerned people that had gathered at some point in front of the stall. 

He took a deep breath, and pronounced: "Be not afraid, gentlefolk! My brother's passing affliction is not a permanent one. He shall return soon, and in the meantime, I'll be happy to serve you stew to fill your bellies in his stead." 

Shortly after he'd dispersed the initial crowd, another excitable Italian zoomed into view carrying a wooden tray on his shoulder. 

"Gilbert, I heard the news as I passed by Felix's stall to taunt him. Do you need any help?" 

"I'm fine, honestly. Ludwig is the injured one, not me." 

Lovino set down his tray of pizza on the counter for a moment and stared straight at Gilbert. "You mustn't blame yourself about this. It's not like you knew your words would set him off." 

"I shouldn't have opened my mouth in the first place." 

"You may join me in remorse on that one, amico. And have a pizza-- it's on the house." 

Gilbert wordlessly handed him a bowl of stew and they both ate their snacks in silence. While handing his container back after finishing, Romano leaned in and gave Gilbert a long, slow, kiss. "I'll see you again before long. You were magnificent at the sword fighting earlier and I don't want to miss your afternoon session under any circumstances." He hoisted his tray. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'll go sell a pizza to your brother. I have a bet to win against Felix, and time flies!" 

"What bet?" Gilbert shouted after him as he ran off. 

"To see which of us can sell more at the fair!" 

 

* * *

 

Time passed in a blur, and soon enough, Gilbert saw his brother come back to the stand, holding hands with his boyfriend all the while. 

"About time you got here. My anachronistic watch is telling me you're cutting it close. You well enough to continue here?" 

"Yes, I think so." Ludwig entered and closed the stand's small door behind him. 

Gilbert pulled him into another hug. "I'm so sorry." 

"Don't be. I was very grateful you were there to help bring me back, you know." 

"Gotta go now, my students await me." Gilbert broke out of the embrace. "See you after." He was in desperate need of some good sword-swinging to take his mind off all this. 

 

* * *

 

Ludwig worked hard to take his mind off everything that just happened. 

He chopped more ingredients, fetched more containers for stew, tasted the mixture, served his customers, gave them their change. 

But as his hands worked unthinkingly, his mind remembered the day not long after the war when he'd uncovered a cache left for him by Gilbert. A small iron box, with a few books and a long letter. 

A missive written by his brother, detailing precisely the nature of his birth and Karl's death. 

Ludwig put his hand against his shirt, unconsciously fingered a small, round scar on his chest. The words of the letter echoed in his head. 

_I saw Karl's body as it rose into the air from his horse, came apart in pieces and recombined into a smaller one, saw golden shafts of dust pour into your chest from every which where, caught you as you fell like a star from the sky. The small healed wound in your breast is where those shining shafts entered you. I told Kiku of your creation once, and he said this is the remainder of the hole in the vessel through which your soul was poured._

The cicatrix twinged and he felt as though he'd stuck his finger in a light socket. His mind filled with hoary static. 

_Stop it._

Ludwig clenched his hand into a fist, hard enough that the nails bit into his palm, until the pain subsided. 

 

* * *

 

The day wound down and soon it was time to pack up. Gilbert changed out of his coat of mail, but decided he didn't want to return to modern clothing yet. So he put on an ordinary long tunic under his cloak instead. 

He was helping Ludwig take his stand down when he noticed someone's eyes on him. Turning, he saw a woman nattily dressed in a coat of mail. 

Gilbert immediately recognized her as the one who'd 'seen' them earlier. 

"Can I help you?" he asked politely, trying desperately to ignore the facts of the matter. 

"I...I saw you." 

He sighed. "Yes, you did. Lutz, stop working for a moment and come over here." 

"What's going on-- oh." 

"Exactly. And now that you have both our attention-- would you mind stating your business?" 

"I'm not sure where to begin." 

"Neither are we, to be honest," said Ludwig and pulled up a bench for them to sit on, one Incarnation to either side of her. 

"For starters, do you know who we are?" 

"I do. I felt it...back there." The woman played with the edge of her surcoat. "I've heard of you. I thought you were just some kind of legend." 

She looked back up, and her eyes were distressed. "I wasn't supposed to see you back there, was I? I'm sorry." 

"Don't be." Gilbert took her hand. "Some people are just more sensitive to us than others." 

She swallowed heavily. "Thank you for what you did. For the blessing." 

"You're welcome. You and your partner fully deserve it, you know." Ludwig took her other hand. 

Susanne looked at them both. Remembered how Anna and her had been filled with the sudden warmth of a summer's day, how their lips had tingled as they kissed again. Remembered seeing these two immortals smiling down on them. 

"I need your help," she blurted out. 

"Oh dear. That sounds serious." 

"It is!" 

"What seems to be the problem, then?" 

Susanne stared straight down at the flattened grass. 

"I can't tell her." 

"Tell her what?" 

Her eyes filled with tears. "That I used to be a man--" 

"Hey." Gilbert gripped her hand more tightly. "Would we have blessed someone we thought unworthy, Lutz?" 

"Definitely not." 

"Look, how long have you been together?" 

"Five years." 

"Right. At this point, if you tell her and she runs out on you, she's not worthy of your love anyway." 

"That's what I'm afraid of-- her leaving me." 

"Let me put it this way. Is it important to you that she understand this aspect of yourself?" 

"Yes." 

"And if you have to lie to be with someone, is it really worth it?" 

"...No." 

"Then tell her already." Gilbert leaned in and touched two fingers to her forehead. "Go with my blessing, child." 

"And mine." Ludwig did the same. 

"Thank you." 

Susanne stood up, faced them, and executed a perfect full bow of homage. They both nodded, and she was about to retreat from their sight, when Gilbert held her back. 

"One sec." He pulled out a piece of paper and pencil from his belt pouch and scribbled down a number. "Here. If anything gets really bad-- call this number and I'll be there. And if I can't be there, I'll phone up the cavalry instead." 

As both brothers watched her run off, Gilbert remarked: "It's a funny thing, the way folk like us work. Sometimes we just-- 'go back' and see the shit we pulled. But we can also go forward and do better." 

This time it was Lutz that swept him into a hug. 

"Oh, you silly boy," Gilbert muttered into his tunic. "You're a good little bear, you know that?" 

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes later, Lovino showed up with a huge grin on his face. 

"I'm guessing you won your bet," said Gilbert. 

"Oh yes." 

"And I keep telling him the win doesn't count-- who ever heard of pizza in the Middle Ages?" Feliciano came up behind his brother. 

"My dear brother. As someone who was actually there to witness the evolution of southern cuisine, I can tell you that in this era, my people were _very_ much engaged in baking basil, herbs, garlic, and mozzarella on flatbreads. I merely replicated their recipe to resounding effect." 

"So how much did each of you make?" Gilbert couldn't resist asking. 

"He made 463 euros, and I made 550." 

Ludwig looked up from where he was counting his own earnings. "Nice job, you two. I ended up making 600." 

There was a brief silence where you could practically hear the jaws of the Vargas brothers falling. Followed by an unprecedented outburst of noise. 

"How is this even possible? You were selling an undistinguished stew, while I offered my customers only the finest of Northern dishes--" 

"Stew? Winning against _pizza_? How could that ever happen--" 

"Have you lot even remotely considered that _I_ was manning the stall for a while? It's not like you get served stew by a real knight every day." 

This thread of conversation continued merrily even as all parties piled into their rented vans and drove off, Felix and Lovino promising to come by for dinner at the Beilschmidt's residence once they'd freshened up at the hotel. 

Gilbert relaxed into the car seat, happy that the cloud cover over today's proceedings had been broken. There really was nothing like a good Italian to raise your spirits, he reflected. 

 

* * *

 

As they were setting the dining table back home, Ludwig turned and looked gravely at Gilbert, who was folding the napkins. 

"You know, when I was having my episode back there, I saw you. The way you looked as a child, that is," he said. 

"Was I being a little shit?" 

"Yes, but so...was I?" 

"Stands to reason. We were all insufferable assholes back then. Also, that wasn't really you, so stop talking like that." 

"I know. But it _felt_ like me." Ludwig's fingers tightened around the spoons he was arranging. "It's not like I can help having been transplanted into another's body." 

"You've got a second-hand body, but you're still a first-rate brother. I want you to know that." 

Lutz smiled. 

"I'm glad you're around," he said, looking straight at Gilbert this time. His free hand strayed to his opposite shoulder, clenching it nervously. "That way, I won't have to face the memories under my skin alone." 

And the gesture was Karl's, but the words were his. 

**Author's Note:**

> My blog [is right here](https://modoru-mono.tumblr.com/). I mostly post history and archaeology with a smattering of good Hetalia. Feel free to give me a yell on ask or messenger over there if you enjoyed the fic!
> 
> **"Dominion over the pagan Lands":** Gilbert and Karl are discussing the [Golden Bull of Rimini](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_Bull_of_Rimini) of 1226, which granted the Order with land rights over the pagan Prussian region once conquered, while also asserting the essential rights of the Holy Roman Empire over this region. As you can read on the [German wiki article](https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Goldene_Bulle_von_Rimini), there is naturally Big Discourse on the part of Polish historians about the Bull's lack of validity, since it seems the Emperor was giving away lands to which he had no essential right. 
> 
> **Pizza:** [Early](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pizza#History) [forms](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_pizza) [of pizza](https://web.archive.org/web/20030115224054/http://www.yourdictionary.com/library/pizza.html) did in all probability exist in southern Italy during the Middle Ages. 
> 
> **An ordinary long tunic:** Like [the fellow in this illumination](https://de.wikipedia.org/wiki/Datei:Codex_Manesse_Tannh%C3%A4user.jpg). If "tunic" is not the right word for that garment, please let me know! 


End file.
